


none at all

by cynical_optimist



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: Angst, Broken Friendships, M/M, Peter-centric, basically i gathered all my feelings about peter donaldson and shoved them into a word document, drinking references, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And then nothing, Ben. That's what tragedy is."</p><p>A character study, of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	none at all

**Author's Note:**

> Look I was talking to [Sarah](https://douchenuts.tumblr.com) and this happened. You should probably never let us do anything together. Enjoy! x
> 
>  
> 
> Title from "If I Didn't Darling" by Reuben Hudson.

Nothing is.

 

_Nothing is--_

_Nothing is…_

 

Nothing is looks that are not quite shared but just shy of each other, eyes a moment from meeting. It is fingers brushing with cups of coffee. It is _almostnotquiteyouwerethiscloseyoumissedyourchance_ running through his mind with every word exchanged. It is gorgeous blue eyes fixed on not-quite clear skies, never his own. It is the words he wants to say stuck in his throat. It is pretending not to know anything because that has always been easier, and if he holds the information, he controls the situation. It is knowing he can change it all with just a few words but never knowing how.  
  
Nothing is Skype calls with John, ordered by their therapist. It is words that come too close to barbs and unspoken apologies that don't show on the screen's grainy feed. It is his jacket always tucked into his suitcase, neatly folded, and John's crossed arms when he asks about it. It is trying to remember what he’s allowed to say and what he isn’t. It is almost subconsciously analysing each word that they exchange for hidden motives, even though it’s all supposed to be behind them now. It is silence he can never quite break.  
  
Nothing is near-constant arguments with Ben, over the smallest things. It is yelling at him because of his ignorant biphobia and his ill-placed caring, trying to hate him but never being quite able to. It is moments when their friendship resurfaces. It is the reminder that it never can, not after what happened. It is hiding in his room because Ben can't accept that, can't accept the fact that he needs to change to grow out of the person he was. It is hearing the name _Pedro_ and wincing bodily because he never wants to be that person again.

 

Nothing is not having spoken to Bea in three months, because even though he apologised, what happened can never really go away. It is the undercurrent of distance through every one of their rare conversations, the _seen_ on his messages whenever he works up the courage to send them. It is a murmured “Bea says hey,” that he’s pretty sure is a blatant lie. It is smiles just nudging the corner of her mouth when he makes sharp comments at a family get together on a visit to Auckland. It is a hug that feels almost like a handshake when he says goodbye. It is some part of him hoping she watches the videos, wanting her to see him and what he has become, because he is so much better even though some days he feels so much worse. It is knowing that her friendship was something he never valued until it is slipping through his fingers, cutting burns into his hands.

 

Nothing is the email from his father informing him of the divorce, asking him in distant yet warm terms whether he would like to come back to see him off. It is the reply sitting in his drafts for days, every edit boiling down to the same answer of “no, screw you”. It is the contact in his phone glaring at him every time he turns it on in the middle of the night. It is knowing that forgiveness is the way to healing, but _hewastheonetostartthemessifhehadn’tcheatedthenPeterwouldn’thavebeensomessedup_. It is calling and pretending that everything between them is perfectly fine, the ice of the lie fracturing under his cold feet. It is hanging up the phone and grabbing his coat because he can’t deal with his father sober.

 

Nothing is beautiful times with beautiful people that mean everything and nothing at the same time. It is waking up with a pounding in his brain that only dulls through the day. It is his hair or her smile that don’t remind him anyone else’s, their lips threatening to take the pain away. It is nights ruining his liver and mornings not quite regretting it. It is glancing into bright blue eyes, compassionate and just a bit disappointed, and wondering if he should. It is deciding that it doesn’t matter because no one cares anyway, not really.

 

Nothing is wondering how many assignments he can pass by the skin of his teeth before he misses the mark. It is mentally comparing his perfect grades from high school and knowing he could do just as well, if he ever tried. It is deciding he’d rather not, because there’s no one he wants to be less than _Pedro Donaldson, straight-A student, All Around Great Guy_. It is studying with Balth anyway, because he’s never been able to say no to him, long before he ever knew why.

 

Nothing is finally finding something he can care about, be passionate about, and having it poked and prodded by the people who are supposed to trust him. It is the thrill of learning lines and getting them right, fitting into the skin of another and not having to decide how to behave. It is forgetting, momentarily, that Peter was once Pedro and that Pedro did awful things. It is returning to the flat and finding his friends on a witch hunt. It is remembering he can’t forget, even when he fills his mind with lines and directions and new friends.

 

Nothing is Balth leaving panadol before he wakes up. It is watching movies he and Ben used to criticise, throwing popcorn at the laptop despite the other flatmates’ objections. It is seeing how nervous Freddie is on camera and remembering that time he threw up before his first speech in fifth grade. It is them all piled on the couch, everyone on top of everyone, and not really caring whose elbow is in his face because they’re all getting along for once.

 

Nothing is lying about his work hours, because the flat is invited to another gig and he knows he won’t be welcome, not after last time. It is going out for a walk right before they return. It is an echo of guilt every time he wakes up after noon, remembering Balth’s downcast face contradicting his reassuring words. It is wondering how different everything would be if he hadn’t stayed up editing with Ben. It is knowing that it is no fault but his own. It is listening to the mp3 of Ode that Ursula gave him, before everything went wrong, and pretending he has no idea who Fish in the Sea is about.

 

Nothing is the fury he feels when someone at the bar cracks a joke that everyone thinks is funny, but knowing he can’t do anything about it without losing his job. It is seeing the posters for the LGBTQA group around campus and wanting to join but knowing he shouldn’t. It is the same posters sitting neatly outside his door. It is remembering the things he used to say in high school and wondering how soon those opinions would begin to emerge before he could learn. It is refusing to ever be that person again. It is thinking he could  _maybe_ give it a shot. It is deciding not to try.

 

Sometimes, it feels like nothing is everything all at once, piling onto him and threatening to suffocate him in its overwhelming grasp. It gives him pain and joy and every emotion in between, and he doesn’t know what to do with it half the time. He does, though. He pushes it down and drowns it in whatever drink he can afford on his father’s apology money and pretends his heart doesn’t ache when Balth turns him down once again, even though he shouldn’t be surprised, not after anything.

 

It’s nothing. Really.

 

It’s nothing he can’t handle.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Completely unedited, so please inform me if you see any glaring mistakes.


End file.
